


Uninstall

by Fallowsthorn



Category: Tron - All Media Types
Genre: Anthropomorphic, Changeover, Gen, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 19:58:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fallowsthorn/pseuds/Fallowsthorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Whenever a user gets a new anti-virus software, they are told to disable and/or uninstall the old one."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Uninstall

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt on the Tron Kink Meme: http://tronkinkmeme.livejournal.com/4397.html?thread=4229165#t4229165

He was awake and running when it happened. He was grateful for that much, at least.

He knew he should be grateful for more. Grateful that his User had allowed him to run for so many cycles, unhindered. Grateful that his User was even there so much, and put up with the small trial/error sequences he'd gone through when he was first installed. Grateful for so many other, small mercies that had been granted to him, even unintentionally.

And he was, he was. Let no one doubt that he had been the best program he could be. But....

But. The damning syllable, but.

Was it because he had doubted? Was it because, even for a microcycle, he had put his own needs before that of his User's? Was it because, for that single billicycle before it all, he had wondered if his best was just not good enough?

He would never know. Quietly, though, in the deep recesses of his processor, he thought that maybe if he'd just been a little quicker, stronger, more faithful, then it wouldn't have happened.

But it had.

He was waiting near the I/O beam, inside the tower itself, watching his replacement be built. It was almost silent; the only noises were the soft whirrs and hums of the installation process.

He thought he'd like to swipe his disc through the parts of the new program that had already rezzed, to stop his replacement before it had even begun. The sudden savageness of the thought shocked him, and he mentally recoiled from it, although he didn't move from his perch on the flat rock. One moment of doubt had gotten him into this mess. Another - and one of _sabotage,_ no less - would _not_ be allowed!

His disc thrummed on his back. The more of the new program was built, the more uncomfortable it became to leave it docked. Soon, he would need to take it off and rest it on the rock next to him, so that it could resync itself to the new program unhindered. For now, he was holding on to it, selfishly hoarding his last moments in the system before his knowledge would transfer on, as the last security program's memories had to him.

He knew what would happen once the installation was complete. He knew because he'd done it himself, hundreds of cycles ago. He did not fear it; he did not allow himself to do so. It was simply a process, one out of a hundred thousand, and he could hinder it no more than he could stop the progression of time.

The disc seared angrily into him, and he withstood it for as long as he could before the rising temperature forced him to undock it and place it next to him or risk deresolution, leaving the system unprotected. He wouldn't be surprised if there was a ring burned into his back where the edges of the disc had rested.

He stopped running calculations and just watched as the installation process completed, the program's form shifting for a few croricycles before it - she, apparently - decided on a gender.

He felt the process complete and trigger the uninstallation sequence. He knew she felt it, too; a tugging against and with newly placed code, an urge to tie the system's security to one program. In all of the memories he had, not one program had been able to turn away from or delay that process. It felt as right and as natural as installation itself.

The new program walked towards him calmly. He knew she wasn't really thinking at this point, just operating on base calculations.

With surprise, he realized he was trembling slightly. He made sure to override the reaction before he picked up the still-brand-hot disc and knelt at the new program's feet, offering it up to her. She took it with the same air of solemnity, giving no sign that she felt the heat. She probably didn't, he thought, recalling the uninstallation of his own predecessor.

She placed a hand under his chin. "Shh," she whispered, pressing her lips to his forehead.

He was scared. He could admit it now, if only to himself, now that he could not turn back. He was terrified. Everything in him clamored to survive, and was held mute by the uninstall command. He let the trembling show again, knowing that she would recognize it not as blind fear, but as the impulse to attack being ruthlessly held in check, nanocycle after nanocycle.

"It will not hurt," she said. Her voice was throaty with lack of use, a strange accent coloring the words.

_I know that,_ he wanted to snap, but didn't. He had given almost everything in service of his User. Now that service could be complete.

She placed the disc on her back and let it sync, blinking at the inrush of knowledge and skills. When she undocked the disc again, her movements were sure and spoke of long practice.

Her voice was smooth when she spoke next. A little digital-rough, but that would fade. "I am sorry, for what it is worth."

He shook his head. "I am not." The doubt he had felt before melted away. This was the will of his User, and it felt utterly _right,_ something snapping into alignment within him. He tilted his head back, exposing his chest and throat, and closed his eyes.

Crazed lightning cracked open the darkness that he saw, and he knew no more.

**Author's Note:**

> Instances of "billicycle" have been changed to "croricycle", as I have decided that if I'm going to use a term that isn't fanon, I may as well make it logical.  A croricycle is about 3 seconds in-Grid, making it about a tenth of a microcycle.  Now, "micro" just means "small", but I want to obsess a bit.  A microcycle is about one nine-hundred-sixieth of a millicycle, which is itself a little over a thousandth of a year, "milli" being the Latin root for "thousand".  So a microcycle is roughly 1/960,000 of a cycle, let's say a million for convenience.  A millionth is one perion, so had I made the universe/fanon I would have either gone with "pericycle" as a rough millionth of a cycle (and then reformatted the math so that it actually was one millionth), or I would have done what they did and gone with "microcycle" because it's easy and people can't really call you out for it.  Anyway, going back to the math, 3 seconds in-Grid is a tenth of a microcycle/pericycle (30 seconds).  So a tenth of 1/1,000,000 is...?  That's right, one ten-millionth, or 1/10,000,000.  Wikipedia tells us that another name for that long number that I don't want to type again is one "crorth", wherever the hell they got that (somewhere other than Greek/Latin).  Hence, "croricycle" to mean something that is one crorth of a cycle.  Ta-da!


End file.
